The World He Faced Alone
by Evoh
Summary: If it wasn't the lying that would make him leave, it would be the vulnerability, the weakness. If that didn't make him leave, then surely, the proof of his worthlessness would. Because, in the end, they always walked out.
1. The Lies He Embraced

I had originally planned to skip the warnings and get right into the story, but just in case for those who forgot what the dangers of M entitles.

In this story holds:

_Fellatio_. **No-no words**. Nudity.

_x_

This is a Harry x Draco story. You've been warned.

I claim nothing but the plot, writing, title and summary.

* * *

A heavy thud sounded as Draco slammed Harry against the wall; his fists bunched up within the flannel designs of Harry's shirt. The platinum-haired blonde dove within the nape of his neck, kissing and marking.

"Draco, you wa--" His words were cut short by the fluttered gasp that escaped his pink lips.

"Shut up, you twat," he said between kisses. Draco's hands began to slide down the cool fabric, before slipping underneath the black haired man's shirt. The sleek body underneath his hands as he roamed sent shivers down his spine. "Oh God, Harry…" Draco gave a particularly deep hicky on Harry's, no, on _his _Harry's neck.

A ghost of a smirk fell before his face before his own hands fisted Draco's hair, harshly tugging at the strands, forcing Draco's head up. "I know my neck's tantalizing, love, but please," Harry muttered, harshly nipping at Draco's lips, "my lips need your affection too." As his green orbs watched Draco's lids flutter close in bliss, he himself began to feel that his own pants were much too restrained.

"No scars from war? How do you do it." Draco ghosted his fingers over Harry's unnaturally smooth back, while seeking entrance into his lover's mouth.

"Glamour," was the only word he could grunt out. Harry, too lost in the crevasses of Draco's mouth, did not consider his response. His hands no longer fondled with the silver hair; they began to work with the button's of his – God yes, _his_ – partner's shirt.

Heavy breaths filled the air, as each undid their lover's clothing. "My," Draco smirked. "Someone's gotten quite the turn on." His lithe pale fingers ghosted over Harry's package, covered by – unfortunately – slacks. "Time to free the little bird, eh?"

Harry moaned. Those fingers just loved to taunt and tease. He couldn't even work a word in. If he could've, the emerald eye boy would've said, '_Hey. It's a big bird._' Ah, but only an illicit hiss escaped his lips.

The sound of metal working against leather filled the air as Draco began to undo Harry's belt. Breaking away from the game of tonsil hockey (however crude the term may be), the graceful man began to slide down to his knees, planting light, wet kisses on Harry's exposed chest on his way down. Pale hands clutched onto Harry's buttocks, before Draco so lovingly began to pull down his love's zipper – with his teeth.

What he saw, though, was not so much a shock as it would've been. "Commando, love?"

A gentle laugh touched Draco's ears from above. "I expected this to happen as much," whispered Harry. His entire lower half bucked as his member was taken in lovingly by Draco. "Oh God." The heated breath surrounding his stick, the wet tongue… especially when it ran over the vein-- Oh!" Harry moaned, his heart pounding and thudding heavily. '_I never knew it felt this good. No wonder why I--' _Harry's eyes broke out of the haze of passion they were in. '_No, I won't think about that. This is Draco.' _He quickly slid his eyes shut, losing himself quickly to the heavy head bobbing by Draco once more.

Draco alternated from shallow licking of the head to deep-throating. One hand remained clamped on his tanned lover's arse, while the other pumped what Draco couldn't get in his mouth. As the blonde listened, he could hear Harry's breaths growing even more erratic and shallow. '_So soon?' _Draco quickly pulled out.

Harry moaned, his hips bucking in an attempt to feel the warmth around his member once more. He grunted in discontent, eyes boring down at the white-blond for a reason as to why he stopped.

"Bedroom. And take off your glamour. I'd like to see," Draco paused. "No… _feel_ you. The real you." The blonde began tugging at his lover's hand, pulling him wayward to the bedroom.

Harry quickly broke out of his stupor then. His hard cock begging to be released was no longer on the forefront of his mind. How did he know about the gla—Oh, right. Harry had slipped up. The emerald-eye boy quickly made corrections to his actions. "Oh love, can we not? I just want to be in you…"

The bedroom door swung open, and Draco quickly pushed Harry to the bed. Still in his own fiery, passionate haze, Draco merely smirked and muttered, "One, _I'll _be the one in _you, _and two, yes, take it off. You've never _not_ worn your glamour."

As his back landed on the plush blanket, the intense fear in Harry grew. The topic of the glamour allowed the locked chest in the deep parts of his mind to be released. Memory after memory began to cloud his vision, and slowly but surely, Draco began to seemingly morph into someone crueler. Fatter. Vicious. His eyes grew cloudy with fear, but said nothing.

Draco mistook the hazed look of his partner as passion. Without further words, Draco once again dove in for a chaste kiss, waiting for Harry to remove his glamour. Well, he planned for it to be chaste, but Draco was easily weakened by the thin, wet lips of Harry. He began to attack furiously with his tongue, licking and nipping as his fingers gently tugged at the nipples. The oblivious boy did not realize that his love was barely moving.

The 19 year old began to return the cold child of seven. Harry began to return to old tactics; he distanced himself from the real world and began to cower in the broken fragments of his mind. Harry distantly realized that perhaps, avoiding it did not heal anything at all. But he couldn't do anything now.

There were just too many memories…

Everything that surrounded him morphed into his past. The heated kissing became vicious bites. The moaning from his love became the screams. The groping and the feeling became the clawing and the torture. Harry began to whimper. His love wouldn't do this right? What was Draco doing? Where was he?

"God, I love you…" moaned Draco, becoming even harder than he was in the hallway not so long ago as Harry's whimper further aroused him. As he kissed Harry's stomach, Draco huffed in between a kisses. "If you don't remove it, I will."

Malfoys had always been powerful in the Dark Arts- that included wandless magic. So with ease, he grunted the incantation without his wand.

Harry could feel his glamour slowly chipping off. It was a horrible feeling, but he had already grown numb to all of the assault – however gentle and loving – and only faintly realized that all the lies and walls he had carefully built to protect himself and only him were, at this moment, being shot to Hell.

Harry also distantly realized, that this was most likely the end of their relationship.

The screams that rang throughout his ears no longer seemed just as important. His neglected cock was neither the priority. The glamour was.

'_I won't lose him. I won't!'_ He'd come to believe that Draco was his guardian angel, even if Draco didn't even know it himself. Even if Draco had never picked up the pieces, or even realize that there were even pieces to pick up.

Harry bitterly knew that Draco would leave anyways. Shallowly, he would put up a poor attempt to keep Draco from leaving, but deep down, he knew that the blonde angel would leave him.

They always did.

Harry had come to believe, long ago, that God had forsaken him.

His dress shirt was still on- albeit unbuttoned and exposing his front. His penis was out and hanging; his slacks crumpled and at his ankles, but Harry did not realize this. He could only feel the glamour already disappearing at the neck, soon, the flesh on his torso would show what he truly was.

Despite his situation, the fear and the sense of desolation licking at his heart and waiting to envelope him whole (as he knew Draco would leave him at the end of this if he didn't avoid this properly), Harry shoved Draco off of him.

He would try and prevent Draco from seeing. From leaving.

His mind grew sober from the taunting. No longer did childhood – if one could even call his younger years a 'childhood' – memories tease him, though the screams still rang clearly in his mind. All he could think of was a way to not expose himself.

Draco had lost balance as he was pushed off his lover. The sudden shock attributed to the fumbling; the pain from the corner of a sharp table, and then the wall, quickly sobered him up. "H-Harry…?" His hands pressed against the cold hardwood floor, heaving himself up to a standing position. Finally, he heard the soft, muted sobbing on the bed.

Harry heard the footsteps, and that was all it took for the memories to return. His sobs were no longer even muffled; he merely quieted down. Although all he could see, hear and feel were memories, Harry knew what had to be done. He located where the top button of his shirt was and began to quickly button his shirt (Those grubby fingers…), hastily working his way down (The touching… And the hand…), before quickly sliding his penis back in his slacks (The bastard pulled on it the first time…) and zipping them up. (The laughter…)

Draco was only the slightest breath away from Harry, but was left speechless the entire time Harry was re-dressing himself. He had seen the front already, just before Harry had finished buttoning himself up.

'_Were those… burn marks?_'

He didn't move.

But Harry did. He shakily got himself upright, although his bones and flesh screamed as if they were in the torture of his memories again. His mind lost in the hazy fog, Harry barely managed to mutter out, "I gotta go. Gotta go… _home._" The last word was enunciated with such venom, Harry was almost surprised of himself. '_Home is where the heart is…_' He had no heart, then, because he never had a home.

Draco quickly snapped out of his thoughts and grabbed a hold of Harry's waist. "Get back here." He mentally cursed as he felt Harry tense. The cold Malfoy personality slipped out sometimes; this was not one of the better moments for it to come out.

Harry flinched. So strong… So strict. So like _him. _He didn't dare disobey. He knew what would result if he did. A voice like that asserted dominance. Quickly relying on gut instincts and previous experiences, Harry distantly and subconsciously became the submissive he once was, back in the house (not home). "Yes sir."

Draco let go of Harry, reeling back in shock and hurt. His silver eyes flickered on the sitting figure adjacent of him. Stray black strands covered the once glowing emerald eyes, hands clasped together and firmly in his lap, feet flat on the floor… This screamed grace and posture, but Draco knew otherwise from what he'd heard tonight. This was submission.

"Harry," began Draco, noting the flinch from Harry before continuing, "what's wrong?"

This was never before entered territory. Draco had never done this; it was as dangerous and as shaky as cutting a wire from a time bomb.

It was dangerous, and he could screw it all up.

"Memories," replied Harry, in a poor attempt to keep everything vague. He had to answer, even if he didn't want to. Would get hurt if he didn't…

Draco burned holes into Harry's side as he watched him. No, this was not just submission. This was heavily trained submission. He had seen multiple cases from miscreant children-turned-Death-Eaters during the war. The Cruciatus was used in those training sessions, doled out by his father or some high rank member, to train children (they were much needed as Voldemort's numbers began to dwindle near the end) into heavy submission to Lord Voldemort. Two weeks of pure torture and mind games and they would come out as the perfect Death Eaters.

However, Draco was sure that the Cruciatus Torture was never inflicted upon Harry; he had been to all the Death Eater meetings- his father made sure of that. '_Perhaps... muggle torture?' _His eyes widened at the thought.

If it was, it had to equal the pain of the Cruciatus. Only such insanity could break a soul into the amount of submission the children, or Harry portrayed.

Draco shuddered. He remembered being under it a few times by his father, when he disobeyed. It was mind-shattering, bone-fracturing, and horribly, horribly painful beyond words.

As Draco figured out his thoughts, the atmosphere grew thick with tension for Harry. He decided to chance it. The charcoal-haired boy tensed and prepared for a beating, but he had to ask. Painfully quiet, Harry voiced, "May I go, sir?" He clenched his fists, prepared to take a blow for asking. Never speak unless spoken to- that was rule number one.

Draco's heart broke at the quiet words that came from the shattered boy that lay before him.

But he would not let him leave.

He raised both hands—

Harry quickly cowered to the end of the bed, slamming his back into the tall bedpost, hissing in pain and then whimpering…

—and hugged Harry like the little lost boy he was. And Draco, forgetting the Malfoy reputation and the cold ice that touched his personality, began to… sniffle.

He couldn't cry, after all. He had to be the one to protect him, not cry alongside.

He wrapped his arms around the shuddering boy, who was whimpering and lashing out, punching Draco, fist after fist.

The silver blonde took it all. After all, if he didn't take it, who else would? Harry had to learn that it was okay to fight back. His body was too wracked with heartbreak to fully comprehend the pain anyways. "Oh Harry… Oh Harry…"

Harry tried not to cry, but they burned at the corners of his eyes. His punches became half-hearted, and finally, the crystal droplets gave way to the force of gravity, and began to stain his tanned cheeks. They were not quiet sobs that he usually cried with, since any form of loud noise when he was younger was quickly beaten out of him… But this was not Vernon.

This was Draco, the love his life.

So, he cried out 11 years of pure, unadulterated torture... and all the summers where he was forced to return back to the house. He cried out all the pain. He cried out his loneliness. He cried out all the demons that had always lingered on his shoulders for all the moments of his life that he suffered under _him_, and most importantly, he cried out his heart: his shattered, fragmented, broken heart.

He clung tightly to the back of Draco's shirt, crying into his chest.

Draco felt helpless and frightened. He was alone in this path of healing Harry, but he would heal him to the best of his abilities and with all his love. He would try, damn it. He would try what no one else had done: save him. Not just pick up the pieces and tell him to fix himself.

Moments passed, pierced with only the loud, guttural sobs and heavy sniffling. But they were moments well treasured, because one day, Harry would look at this as a stepping stone. The beginning of a real life.

For now, though, this could only be seen as temporary comfort. Harry knew Draco was doing this out of pity. Draco would walk out, now realizing how weak and pathetic Harry was. He knew he had to leave; he wouldn't be able to face heartbreak. Especially if his silver-haired love knew of his scars- both the inner and outer ones; Draco would be disgusted.

Draco ran his fingers through the black strands, soothing and muttering sweet words of nothing.

As the sobs grew to quiet whimpers and sniffles, he gently cupped the sides of Harry's face, his thumbs running up and down his cheeks. "Look at me, Harry."

Emerald clashed with diamond.

Draco gently pressed his forehead against Harry's, despite the slight height difference. He closed his eyes and whispered, "I love you, Harry. I love you, and let me help you."

He sniffed once, trying to regain his composure. He grew cold at those words. He remembered those exact words in the obese man that terrorized him. Lies. Coldly and nonchalantly, he quipped, "You'll give up."

Every word that was being spewed from Draco was a lie.

It seem that pity brought out the liars in everyone.

Draco grew tense, but he did not move an inch. If this was the true Harry, he would take it. "Never."

Harry smiled then. A cold, grave, ever-knowing smile. "You will."

Harry would not work himself up. Sure, if Draco had just stayed away from the whole glamour issue, they would've made love, had a great relationship and maybe get married. No one would ever have known about his terrible past, and he would forget it. Right? He would've known for sure that Draco would not leave then.

But here he sat, all exposed and vulnerable. Harry knew Draco would give up.

"I won't ever," replied Draco, almost gravely. '_How many people have tried to break his concrete walls? …And failed?' _He pondered about this as silence ensued. '_Perhaps not many at all, but even one failed attempt would've shattered his last shreds of hope.' _With a sad heart, he realized, '_He barely had any hope to begin with._'

His hands shifted from Harry's hair to his back. He rubbed circles, soothing him.

Harry was growing tired of this. He would not build himself up; the real him didn't deserve love. All he deserved was a good fuck now and then.

God damn it. If only Draco didn't discover the real him. Because, surely, the fake him – the one he had built for protection and for a chance at a life – did deserve love. The fake him was perfect: Fame, popularity, love, no horrible past…

But Draco now knew the truth. And this would end by either his own hand or Draco's.

It would hurt less if it was from his own hand.

"Then," he blurted, trying to quicken and prepare himself for heartbreak, "you'll leave me because of this!" Harry quickly stood up, and yanked off all the buttons before allowing the flannel fabric to slide off his shoulders.

Draco gasped.

"OR THIS!" screamed Harry. He undid his pants and quickly got out of them, hurling them across the room.

The platinum blonde stared in horror.

The wounded lover felt nothing but anger. "Disgusted with what you see? I told you! No one deserves a worthless freak like me! See! See! It even says so!"

He began to claw at all his scars, digging at the scar on his left thigh that clearly read: _slut_. "He liked to fuck me. I'm not even clean! Just a worthless-" Harry clawed at the almost faded word on his right hip. "Stupid-" This word was written on his shoulder, and he began to swipe at that too. "Whore!" This last word, however, was not written in the front. It was carved in his back.

In such a mocking manner, Harry turned around, showing his back. "See it, _love_?" he asked with a sneer. "See all these words! I'm everything!"

There really was every derogatory term engraved in sloppy letters on Harry. Slut, whore, worthless, stupid, freak, cunt…

There were burn marks, and even a few bumps on him that appeared to be improperly healed bones.

Draco felt nauseous; bile rose up in his throat, wanting to be let out. But he kept it down.

The broken green-eyed boy shifted his head, making eye contact with his lover. "How do you like me now?" He sneered. "Still want to fuck this used man? Your dick won't be the first thing to go up my ass." Harry was taking the crude path. No longer was there the mask. This was him, all exposed. And he would not be left alone with a torn-up heart without a few hits at his lover's – no, _ex_-lover's – self-esteem before Draco left.

Harry had no protection left.

Harry was waiting for some response, some "_I'm leaving you, you sick sick man!"_ or something. Anything! However, this silence… was unnerving. And oh so unexpected.

He hated the silence. He had lived in the silence and was beaten in the silence. It was cruel.

Draco stared. The silence drained Harry of all his anger and courage. His eyelids flutter closed and he turned his head back, but remained facing Draco with his back. "Just leave me."

Harry could hear the bed creak, a sign that Draco was standing now. He felt the hardwood floorboards creak; Draco was walking now. '_Probably out the door. Don't worry, you're used to it now_,' he thought. Yes, he was, wasn't he? Used to the loneliness.

But while he had expected a door to open and close, the arms that slid around his waist for the second time today surprised him. The strawberry scent of Draco took hold of his nose, and he took a deep breath. Perhaps Draco was all for romantic goodbyes?

He wouldn't be able to take it. Harry wasn't prepared for a romantic goodbye.

This would surely be the death of him.

"Harry…"

Here it comes. He took a deep breath and waited.

"I'll never leave."

Harry spluttered, and attempted to turn around.

Draco held so tightly that Harry had no ability to turn around whatsoever; Draco's cheek gently pressing against the soft, black hair. "I told you I love you. I mean it."

Harry could feel his entire chest collapsing inward. He buried his face in his hands and said nothing.

Draco, however, took no notice of his response and began to plant gentle kisses on Harry's backside - every letter and word he saw.

There were many kisses to give.

* * *

"_Looking at all or nothing,  
Babe, it's you and I.  
With you I know that,  
I am good for something;  
So let's go give it a try.  
We got our backs against the ocean,  
It's just us against the world._"

All Or Nothing - Theory of a Deadman

**A/N: **Epilogue has been written & will come, as long as the reviews do. (:

**A/N:** The ending falls short, but I felt the feelings conveyed went beyond a string of words.


	2. Epilogue: The Past He Hid

Honey,  
your walls are **falling**.

Darling,  
let me help you_..  
(oh, let me save you)  
_won't you let me—  
reconstruct your heart?

* * *

"…couldn't do it on her own in the end. But she tried her best."

The 32" screen faded to black, as cursive font began to make itself known in the center: _The End_.

Harry sighed happily, shifting within the wrapped arm of Draco, snuggling into Draco's hard chest. "I love movie night."

Draco mindlessly ran his fingers through Harry's hair, giving only a small 'hm' as a response. Truth be told, he was very distracted. Eyebrows furrowed, teeth clenched, he wondered how he'd be able to voice his – no, well, _their_ – problem, that they had to deal with. The prior confrontation a few days ago ended with heated kissing, and then sleep.

Perhaps it wasn't the best way to deal with it that night, but it was too tense to have been dealt with any other way.

'_It's already been a few days. We have to overcome this. Harry has to deal with this._'

"Draco, love, what's wrong?" The heavy weight that had been pressing on Harry's shoulder seemed to grow even heavier; he knew what was coming. He'd been avoiding the topic as long as he could, but it seemed that their relationship would not improve till Draco knew all aspects of his past. Harry sighed. "Must we…"

"Yes." The word came out as a chortle; the pale blonde (more pale than usual) was so tense. But this had to happen. He was afraid Harry would not forgive him for prying, or maybe leave (as the black-haired man was so set on leaving a few nights ago) after telling Draco everything – the entire truth. "I told you I would help you. I will."

Harry tensed. Bitterness overtook him. "The best way to help me is to not pry." An undertone of malice took place.

Draco winced. This was what he feared. "I—"

"—No." Harry abruptly stood up. He would not listen; he would not talk. He briefly decided where to go. '_Bed? Ron's? Hermo_—_' _His train of thought, albeit brief, was shattered as Draco snaked both hands on Harry's left hand.

Malfoy studied Harry's back. For a moment, only heavy breathing filled the room. Finally, he whispered, "Your shoulders are slouched all the time, love. The life in those green orbs that I fell in love with have blown out. Or maybe you just hid it all too well before." Standing up slowly, gently, Draco began to work his fingers to Harry's shoulders. He whispered, "Let me take some of that weight off your shoulders. Let me take the weight off your heart." The last word enunciated as Draco snaked both hands around the emerald-eyed boy.

Harry shuddered; his clenched fists digging half-crescent moons into his palm. God, that sexy voice could make him do anything. But was handing his entire heart to Draco worth it? Was it really? And what if Draco realized that he had fallen in love with such a freak?

He could deal with pushing people away, but being pushed away was an entirely different matter. '_Is it worth it?_'

"I love you. You know that, right? I loved you the day I saw you. I loved you five, four, three, two years ago, I loved you a year ago, and I love you now. I'll love you forever, too." Draco breathed out slowly, still snuggled into the nape of Harry's neck from behind.

It was worth it.

Harry wrapped his arms on top of Draco's, who still had a firm grip on his chest. Gently, he pushed them down and turned around. With closed eyes and a shuddering sigh, Harry spoke ever so gently. "Please… don't leave me."

Hand firm on Draco's left, he seated himself back on the couch. His lover followed suit.

"I think when I was three- I'm not quite sure… All I can remember is just a bunch'a fists, pain and screaming…" Harry squeezed Draco's hand tightly, looking into those silver pools for reassurance. And there was. "I was forced to wear this belt on my neck at all times…" A small, bitter chuckle radiated at the memory. "When I first wore it, I remember counting how many times it wrapped around my around my small neck. 7 times. He would take it off every time he beat me. Said it was more convenient than him wearing a belt, because belts didn't fit him. What a fat man.

"When I was bad, which was always, he would unbuckle the belt – I learned not to squirm or run away after the first time - from my neck and whip me, the metal side being the end. 5 lashes if I angered Petunia, 10 if I angered Dudley, 15 if I angered him, and 25 if I angered the entire family. He usually claimed it was the entire family.

"He would always take out his Swiss army pocket knife after. It's not a product in the wizarding world, but in the muggle world, it's basically… an assortment of weapons in one little handle-like thing. For self-defense and camping.

"He would carve out a word every time I got a beating. That's why… that night, you couldn't tell some of the words. A body only has so much skin before you run out of space… Then you have to write over," Harry gave another bitter chuckle, but he no longer looked in the eyes of his lover for reassurance. He had shut his eyelids closed, pretending that he was only talking to himself. "Petunia though…

"She had a mean punch. Gave me a swift hit to the cheek here and there, when I messed up the cooking. It happened more when I was younger; they never sent me to school. So those recipes were always a bugger. But sometimes… when I dropped the flour or something like that… she'd make me eat it off the floor. When I got really naughty, she shoved my hand in the frying pan. While it was frying things. I don't really remember much. I was lucky; I blacked out every time she did that.

"Truth be told, I was glad I got to eat off the floor. Most of the time, I was left in the cupboard without food. They made me drink my own urine once. Dudley got a kick outta that. But you know, they usually gave me water, so it was okay.

"I was 10. That's when all the groping and the feeling happened." Harry briefly opened his eyes and noted the alarmed look in Draco's eye, if that was even possible, because Draco was already thoroughly disturbed. "Nothing really bad. Worst I did was head. I was already numb due to the beforehand "preparation" beating, so you know, I didn't really feel, care or remember much. The sex really only happened the summer I turned 13. Told me I was worthless and I deserved it. Me and my 'magical freakiness'.

Harry sighed, pulling his hand away from Draco. He scooted away from him, and buried his hands in his face. He was ashamed.

"You're not worthless!" shouted Draco, moving closer to Harry and wrapping his arms around his back.

He could feel his love tense, but he refused to let go. "Not worthless at all, love…" His face was pale, with a tinge of green. The anger that made his eyebrows furrow was almost endearing.

"My story, Draco," whispered Harry. He cleared his throat, as if this was something as natural as giving a lecture.

Draco had to lean in, to hear Harry's words through the hands that were burying his face.

"Vernon is into sadism and masochism, do you know? Well, I suppose you don't. He is. He's also done every position with me, called me every degrading term… used every form of humiliation. Truth be told, I was hoping that no repressed memories would slip up if you know, that night, we actually made love instead of what actually took course.

"Bondage, yeah, he's into that too. God, that hurt. And all the flogging…

"When I worked in the garden, a few of the neighbourhood kids tried talking to me. It's what gave me a bit of sanity, you know, realizing that maybe not _everyone _hated me. But in the end, I didn't have any friends. Dudley made sure of that; he'd beat up all the kids that even attempted to make small talk with me. So I distanced myself from everyone in the end."

His hands broke away from his face and gently turned to face Draco. He laughed, though the sparkle of humour did not touch those emerald irises. "Guess it was the Gryffindor streak in me. Not wanting to get anyone hurt but myself." He scratched his head. "Maybe I am a masochist." A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips. With a sigh, he returned his gaze to the ground, hands back in their folded position in his lap, and continued.

"But I got into Hogwarts… I think that was the one thing that stopped me from the possibility of going insane. Well, I don't know if I'm sane now… But you get the point.

"I'm claustrophobic. That cupboard was small. They'd lock me in it for days. I don't think if I should be grateful or scared as shit. I think I was both. In the end, I was glad for the silence but it felt like the walls would close in on me at any moment.

"I got in so many beatings for sneaking out to the library, but I knew I had to learn how to read somehow. But those beatings were special." He laughed, loudly.

Draco rubbed circles in Harry's back, wondering if Harry had just gone insane. He was thoroughly, and completely disturbed. As Harry's laughing turned to sobbing and gasping, he muttered, "Calm down, Harry. Calm down. You don't have to keep talking, we can finish this later. You'll be okay…"

Harry quickly stopped sobbing at that. "I'll _be _okay? But I'm okay _now_. I just don't have to think about it, and I'll be okay. I just have to wake up, put on my glamour, make sure my walls that surround me are stable, force a smile and get on with my day."

Harry had said this sincerely. He truly was resigned to the consequences of his past. There was no bitterness or hatred. Perhaps the undertone of fear would never leave him, but this was him. Defeated and tired. Avoiding took the least amount of effort and it managed to fool everyone. Well, except for Draco now.

Draco released his hold on Harry's hunched back and gently cupped his angel's face, turning it to face him. Silver clashed with emerald; fury clashed with resignation. He was pissed. "You're just going to say that? Just avoid it! What if… No. No. There are no what ifs. I'm just going to help you." Draco snaked his pale hand to Harry's. He took deep breaths…

The platinum-blonde arose from the couch all of a sudden, with Harry intently watching him. After a few moments of Harry studying his partner's back, Draco flipped around..

..And got down on one knee.

Harry was growing alarmed. Had his story driven his love crazy?

To anyone else, it would seem to be a request for their hand in marriage. However this was Draco and Harry, in their living room and this was, definitely, no _direct _proclamation of love.

"Harry," he said, with much thought and after quite some silence ensued, "I. Will. Heal. You." His grey eyes delved deep into the other's eyes, staring intently into the swirling pools of green. "I will pick up the pieces that no one bothered to pick up." He used his free hand to clasp Harry's other hand as well. "And I will glue them back together.

"It will be painstaking. It's going to take a damn well long time. But it'll be my feat because I love you. And I will be with you every step of the fucking way, no matter how long it takes. My good sir, permission to love you? Permission to hold you, to care for you? To heal you?"

Harry said nothing.

Ignoring the lack of response, Draco stood, leaned into the sitting Harry – foreheads pressed together – and kissed him.

First gentle and tender, then a fiery passion ran through his veins. Those tender lips turned to kisses of love and heated romance, hands roaming through those black strands once more.

There was so much love Draco could give. So much love that Harry had never experienced.

And Harry was shocked. No one had given him such support. He wasn't prepared for such a response.

Draco was his first love, his first kiss, his first date. The first one to promise help him, to protect him, in a way that Harry could _believe_. He had _hope _that Draco could pick him up from the well he had gotten stuck in ages ago.

Belief and hope… Words he barely used.

And the first one to embrace him in such a manner that made his, what he once believed to be non-existent, heart explode.

Harry smiled – just a smidge – and pushed back on those icy lips just as hard. He muttered in the kiss, for just a moment, "_Please._"

And that was all the permission Draco needed.

* * *

"_Caught me__—  
__Inside I know I'm fighting,  
But I still keep on trying  
To get to you.  
Keep breathing,  
I know you're so deceiving,  
But I can't help,  
That I'm so hooked on you._"

Your Kind (Speak To Me) - Danger: Radio

**Final Author's Note:**

ChocohalicsAnonymus, Sailorfroststar11, NightAngel101, Safron, njferrell, Captain Beebo, HarryxPotterx4ever:

_Thank you_ for taking your time to write a review. They meant a lot to me.

And to those who favourite-d the story or story alert-ed, thank you as well.


End file.
